


Teamwork + Concussions

by AppalachianApologies



Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [8]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: <-- thx avian for telling me of that tag lol, Also mentions of Harry, Concussions, Friendship, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, In this household we still hate james, James MacGyver Bashing (MacGyver TV 2016), Parental Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Pre-Season/Series 01, Sandbox fic, Some random army people, Whump, bro what you're gonna tell me 'bullet wounds' isn't a tag already??, bullet wounds, on a scale of one to concussed mac is like a thirty four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29925411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppalachianApologies/pseuds/AppalachianApologies
Summary: It isn't the first time Mac and Jack found themselves surrounded by hostiles, but it never gets easier. And it certainly doesn't help that explosions, bullets, and broken radios are being added to the mix.
Series: Schrödinger's Sandbox [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157210
Comments: 28
Kudos: 52





	Teamwork + Concussions

**Author's Note:**

> Hi!! Okay so random but I really liked Friday's episode (thx murdoc) and I was half tempted to write a tag for it, but instead I just decided to focus on this whump lol
> 
> Also Blevins and Michell were characters that I randomly mentioned in part three as filler names, if they sound familiar :D
> 
> Enjoy this extra long story that totally got away from me! :D

Mac didn’t mind Blevins and Michell. In fact, as far as the people living in his bunk, those two men were probably his favorite. Neither of them bothered Mac, and they also got up to the same amount of antics as Mac did. The only difference is that they usually got caught.

Blevins was a damned good EOD Tech too. He’s only a few years older than Mac, and he and Charlie were apparently close from when they worked with each other about a year ago. They haven’t talked since then, though.

All in all, Mac was fine working with them. 

Jack, on the other hand, was more than fine. He was having the time of his life, charismatic as ever, life of the party. He finally had more people to give his long winded stories to, and he was absolutely thrilled with that prospect.

And although Mac was happy about it, something still bothered him. For the past few months, all of Jack’s stories were told to Mac. Now though, now they’re being shared. The worst part is, Mac doesn’t even know why he’s getting annoyed by that fact. There’s literally no reason for him to be bothered by Jack telling stories.

He shouldn’t even care.

Not that he does care.

So what if he tells stories to other people? Good for him.

Like children on a road trip, Mac and Blevins are both stuck in the back of their truck, while Jack and Michell are up in the front, half discussing goats, half keeping an eye out around them. By now, Mac’s learned that overwatches never take a break, and never take their eyes off of anything that could be perceived as a threat.

Slowing down, Jack takes an extra second to look around before declaring, “Alright boys, we’re here.”

Already hopping out of the truck, nearly as fast as Mac does, Blevins asks, “Where’d Martinez say?”

“He didn’t know for sure,” Michell replies, “But there were apparently a few bombs lining the sides of these buildings.”

“How many is ‘a few’?”

With a shrug, Michell calls back, “Dunno. Assume at least a dozen, I guess.”

Even though Mac knows they haven’t, the way Jack and Michell move makes him think that they’ve worked together before. He supposes that after working in the military for years, everyone begins to move the same way.

“Right ‘n left, or front ‘n behind?” Jack asks, rifle at the ready.

Michell doesn’t hesitate to reply, “Your choice, brother.”

“Front ‘n behind then. It’s not like we know enough about this place to scatter. I’m goin’ first. And you two,” Jack points a finger at the techs, “Stay behind us at all times. Capisce?”

After a thumbs up from Blevins and a nod from Mac, Jack starts moving.

From the back, Mac and Blevins keep an eye out for any suspicious pieces of debris, while the other two keep their eyes on the rooftops, watching for any twinkles of scopes.

Eventually, Mac pushes his hand out, “Wait.”

“What’d you got there, kid?”

Picking up a discarded quilt from the side of the road, Mac sighs. “Found bomb number one.”

“How bad?” Michell questions.

With a shrug, Mac answers, “Don’t know until I get a closer look at it.”

“Well, don’t get too excited,” Blevins starts, pulling his own piece of fabric from the floor a few feet away. “Got ‘nother one right here.”

Glancing over, Mac sighs. “There’s a ton lining all the sides of the streets. More than ‘a few.’”

“Hey,” Michell shrugs, “I said assume a dozen.”

“A dozen was right.” Blevins then turns around in a circle, pointing out all of the different bits of trash beside the stairs and walls. “Hell, all of these could also be IEDs.”

With a deep sigh, Jack asks, “Well, what’s the plan?”

“Same as always. Just start with one and make our way through them all,” Mac answers, already crouching down to his own bomb, pulling out his knife. 

It’s a pretty hastily made bomb, which isn’t very surprising given that it feels like there’s a million other ones placed around. They’re probably all made by the same person, which is good for him and Blevins. As soon as they get the hang of disarming from this particular person, it’ll make it all go faster.

Once he completely removes the fabric from the device, Mac breathes a sigh of relief. There’s no cover on it- it’s just a naked bomb. All of the insides are already exposed, so it shouldn’t be too difficult to figure out where to start on it. If all of them look like this, the four of them will be back in time for lunch.

Mac gets pulled out of his thoughts when Michell suddenly raises his chin and calls out, “Dalton.”

“Yeah man, I feel it.”

“Feel what?” Mac asks, looking up from his bomb. A quick look over to his left, and Mac can see that Blevins is also wondering the same thing.

“We’re too exposed here,” Michell reports, shaking his head. “And this many bombs in a village that’s already been deserted? Something isn’t right.”

Withdrawing his hands from his own device, Mac questions, “What are you saying? That this is some sort of trap or something?”

“Somethin’ hinky’s goin’ on.”

Looking between the two overwatches, Blevins points out, “We still have to disarm these bombs though. Right?”

“Not if it’s gonna cost us our lives.”

“But we have a job to do.”

“Yeah?” Jack interjects, “So do we. And our job is to get our bomb nerds home.” Pulling out his radio, Jack uses one hand to speak into it, his other still on his rifle.

Still not putting his hands back to work on the bomb, Mac points out, “But no one’s here. Nothing’s going to happen.”

“Listen kid, you do this job as long as I have, you get a feelin’ for it. Just like how you can tell that there’s a bomb around? I can tell when there are unfriendlies comin’.”

Mac just rolls his eyes as a response. 

Unbothered by the tech’s skepticism, Mitchell announces, “We don’t have any good cover ‘round here either. We’re sitting ducks, man.”

“Hey, MacGyver?”

Blevins’ voice interrupts any response Mac was about to bite out. “Yeah?”

“Can you come look at this?”

Feeling his hair stand on edge, Mac nods, glancing at his own bomb, as if he was telling it to not move while he’s gone. “What’s up?”

Pointing at a small tag of an unknown material, he asks, “That look like plastic to you?”

“Yes? But it would’ve melted if that were the case.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“So it’d had to have been added on afterward…”

Finishing his thoughts, Blevins sighs, “Which means that these bombs aren’t as simple as they appear.”

“This isn’t the inside,” Mac quietly murmurs. “This is just the shell of the bomb.”

“Alright, well, what does that mean for us?”

Sitting back, Mac admits, “I don’t know. Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah, kid?”

“I think you were right about something not feeling right about this area.”

“‘Course I was right,” Jack smiles, even though there’s an underlying fear, barely hidden under the surface. “You two okay?”

Nodding, Blevins answers, “For now.”

“Dalton, we got company!”

Jack’s demeanor instantly changes. He was already pulled taut before, but seeing him now is a whole new thing. It’s like his eyes shift. “Mac, Blevins, in the doorway, right now!”

There’s no time nor reason to argue, so they both oblige, taking one last glance at the mystery bomb. Now, more than ever, Mac wishes that he had the chance to double check his own device to see if there was something else going on in there.

“‘Bout as many unfriendlies that there are bombs, Dalton.”

“You just as good a sniper as I’ve heard?”

“Yes, sir.”

Nodding, Jack announces, “We’re finding a nest, then. I don’t want our bomb nerds hiding too close to the action, and there’s no way in hell I’m leaving them somewhere.”

“Well that we can certainly agree on, Sergeant,” Michell replies, slowly moving down the deserted street, hoping that he can get at least a few more feet until the hostiles see them.

Covering the techs, Jack nods with his chin towards Michell. “You two, go go go.”

“Jack, the bombs-”

“I’ll be careful. You just get your asses up that building, you hear me?”

Blevins stops in his tracks, putting a hand on Mac’s shoulder as he points. “MacGyver, you see that?”

After squinting, Mac nods slowly. “It was all just a trap.”

“That’s the trigger,”

“You need to move!” Jack shouts, returning fire to the unfriendlies, giving Michell enough time to set himself up in the nest.

“Jack, get away from the walls!” Mac yells back.

Still not climbing up the stairs, Blevins calls out to Mac, “We can disrupt the trigger,”

“Blevins, get your ass up there! That’s an order, specialist!” Jack shouts, the familiarity of his past all coming back.

“No, Jack, he’s right! If we don’t stop the trigger, then we’re all dead!” However, even as he says it, bullets rain over the doors and walls next to him. There’s no way that the two of them are going to be able to reach it. But that raises another question. Jack’s the one returning fire, so he should be the targeted one.

Which means that the only reason they’re shooting around Mac and Blevins, is because of the trigger. Which means-

*

Mac makes the connection a second too late.

*

Instinctively, Jack turns from the blast, doing his best to shield the organs in his chest from an untimely death. It’s one of the first things that they’re taught. You can live with your legs all broken up, but you can’t live with your chest crushed.

Although familiar, the tinnitus doesn’t get any easier to handle, and Jack spends a few precious milliseconds trying to get his ears to make sense of the world. His eyes follow right after, dust settling in blankets around him.

Now that he knows he’s not dead, the next thing he needs to do is make sure he’s not about to die a second later anyway. Even though Jack’s pretty sure he didn’t lose any time or consciousness, it seems like all of the hostiles have left. Either that or they’re just waiting until the dust settles.

That’s a bit more likely.

“Dalton, sit rep!”

Finding Michell’s slightly unfocused face from the doorway, Jack shakes his head. “I’m fine!” He shouts back, “Go get the kids!”

Jack knows what words are coming, even before Michell opens his mouth. “They’re both down, Dalton!”

“We gotta get ‘em out of here! Soon as this dust settles they got a clear shot!” Jack shouts, slinging his rifle around his shoulder so he can scoop up his bomb nerd, bridal style. A quick glance to his right tells him that Michell is doing the same, but with a little less luck. Mac’s body is far lighter than Blevins’.

They almost make it inside of the building.

A round of gunfire goes off, and Jack turns to keep his back in the line of fire, rather than the front, where Mac is. He hisses out a curse when he feels the side of his arm begin to burn. But really, he couldn’t care less about a graze. The kid wasn’t hit.

Michell’s halfway through the doorway when he stumbles with his own shout, barely holding onto his tech.

“Michell?”

“Not me!” He cries back. “Slug hit Blevins!”

“Shit,” Jack breathes, double checking that his own bomb nerd wasn’t hit. “We’re surrounded, man. Called suspicious in earlier, but nobody’s gonna be able to get to us without half a tac team..”

Laying Blevins flat on the ground, Michell points out, “Still gotta call it in anyway. We can hold up here. Nest at the top, all set up. We can snag ‘em when they walk up.”

With a nod of agreement, Jack questions, “How good’s your first-aid?”

“Not as good as yours, Sergeant. I can take the nest, if you can help Blevins,” His eyes linger on the specialist, before he shakes his head.

Jack’s seen the motion a hundred times before. There’s no time to panic when they’re in a situation like that. All emotions get put on the back burner. It’s a horrific skill to learn, and sometimes, Jack wishes that he never had.

Although they can’t get to the truck, there’s still emergency first aid on his tac vest, and Jack knows exactly how to use it all. After unfolding and refolding a handful of gauze, Jack places it over Blevins’ bullet wound, muttering an apology when he unconsciously tenses.

Keeping one hand on Blevins’ wound, Jack uses his other to give a nice sternum rub to Mac, not letting himself think of what will happen if he doesn’t respond. Thankfully, Jack doesn’t have to go down that rabbit hole.

The kid groans for a few seconds, face contorted into a wince as Jack continues to press his knuckles into his sternum. And then, finally, after another couple of seconds, Mac’s eyes open. It’s obvious that he isn’t tracking anything.

Jack then puts his other hand back on Blevins, wishing that he would now wake up.

“Hey, kid, how’re you doing?”

Confused, Mac murmurs, “Jack?”

“Yeah, there he is. You wanna tell me what hurts?”

From the corner of his eye, he can see Mac push himself into a sitting position, albeit with shaky arms. By the time he’s done, Mac’s pushed himself against the wall, and Jack knows that if it wasn’t there, Mac would’ve fallen right over. 

“Uhm,” Mac frowns at himself, “Nothing?”

Using most of his self control, Jack stops himself from cursing. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

If Jack didn’t know any better, he’d think that Mac has to genuinely think to see if he’s feeling any pain. “I- my head? I think?” However, before he can respond, Mac’s fuzzy eyes settle on Blevins. The reaction is nearly instant. “Shit, is he okay? Blevins? He’s not- Jack?”

“He’s gonna be okay. Slug to the gut.”

“That’s… not good,” Mac replies, evidently saving his usual eloquence for when he’s not concussed. A few sharp rifle rounds sound off from above him, causing Mac to flinch.

“It’s just Michell. He’s up in the nest.”

“‘S he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Jack nods. “He was away from the blast.”

Mac nods for a few seconds, before slowly replying, “Good. And- and you? You’re, uh, you’re not hurt? Right?”

Internally frowning at the kid’s slow words, Jack replies, “Takes more than that to keep me down, kid.”

With a shaky hand, Mac points to Jack’s left shoulder. “You’re bleeding, Jack.”

“This ain’t nothin’. More worried about our pal here.” Jack tears his eyes off of Blevins long enough to see Mac give a few lethargic blinks at the tech on the floor. He still isn’t tracking quite right. “Kid?”

“Uh,” Mac swallows, a shallow wince running across his face. “That’s- that’s gonna. ’S too much blood.”

“Yeah, it is,”

“We have, uhm, have’ta do something about that. Is the bullet still inside?”

“Yeah.”

This time, Mac closes his eyes and takes a breath. “Okay. We can’t stop the bleeding then.. Have to, um,” Mac frowns, losing the words that should be at the front of his brain.

“Have to get it out,” Jack finishes, feeling his worry for the kid go up a few other notches. “Yeah, we do. Only got the first aid on my tac vest, though. Only a couple pre-threaded needles.”

Shaking his head, Mac replies, “Unless you know how to stitch, um, stitch internally, that won’t help. Just because you, you, uh, just because you stitch up the skin, that doesn’t mean that,” Mac takes a breath in the middle of his statement, already winded. “That it hasn’t stopped bleeding. Internally.”

Grimly, Jack watches as Mac does his best to take another deep breath, looking only a fraction as concerned as his overwatch feels. “Kid, does your chest hurt?”

“I think so?”

“How bad? You feelin’ any pinching?”

Mac takes a few seconds to think of an answer, but even after he opens his mouth, nothing about his own condition comes out. “We have to get the bullet out. There’s, um, there’s no way to stop the bleeding otherwise.”

“Yeah, Mac, we do,” Jack answers, even though the only thing he really wants to be doing is taking a look at the bruises that he knows must be forming on Mac’s chest.

“We have- we have EOD- EODs have…” As Mac trails off, he brings a clumsy hand to the side pocket of his vest. “‘S tools. Extras. Tweezers,” He eventually declares, holding them up like he’s just pulled a sword from a boulder. “And then… heat. Lighter.”

Nodding, Jack completes the thought for him, “To get it as sterile as possible. I hear ya. Alright, Mac, I need you to do me a favor, got it?”

“Got it.”

“We’re gonna switch, ‘kay? You’re gonna hand me the tweezers, and then you’re gonna go put pressure on Blevins’ wound. That make sense?”

Nodding, Mac thankfully confirms, “Make sense.”

“Alright.” Holding out a hand, still keeping one on the tech’s side, Jack requests, “Hand me the tweezers, got it?” 

As the two of them trade off, more rounds sound off from above them. The sound is halfway comforting to Jack, but based on Mac’s surprised jumps, the same can’t be said for him.

“Just keep your hands there, got it?”

“It’s not pulsing,” Mac reports, sending Jack into a panic, until he continues, “From the wound. That means it’s not- not… ar-ter-i-al.”

Although Jack allows himself a quick sigh of relief knowing that Blevins is still alive, he certainly isn’t liking the fact that Mac’s ability to speak is getting even worse. “That’s good. Blevins is gonna be just fine.”

Pulling out his lighter, the one that his pops gave him nearly a decade ago, Jack holds it under the tweezers, until the heat becomes unbearable from his own fingers holding on to the other side.

If Mac was more in it, he wouldn’t be surprised if his bomb nerd started sprouting off facts about heat conduction. Jack would probably call it ‘reduction’ or ‘heat concussion’ and get a grin out of the kid. 

When he looks over to the two specialists, Blevins is still unconscious, and Mac is staring blankly at the gauze, watching with grim fascination as blood slowly soaks it.

Keeping one hand on the tweezers, Jack pulls out the rest of the gauze from his vest, tearing the pack open with his teeth. Probably not sanitary, but unless he grows an extra hand, he has no other option. 

Coming up to the side of him, Jack announces, “Alright, stay right there until I tell you to move, okay? I’m gonna get that sucker out real fast, and then you’re gonna cover it up again, but this time with the clean gauze. You with me?”

“With you,” Mac confirms, even though he looks anything but.

Handing off the new gauze, Jack sucks in a breath. “Alright, let go.”

The second the burning tweezers poke into the wound, Blevins’ eyes open with sheer panic. Jack’s seen that type of panic before, and he’d be perfectly fine with never seeing it again. Unfortunately, it’s the most common expression in his nightmares.

Blevins’ back arches against the dirty floor, face contorting in pain as a silent scream passes through his mouth. “I’m sorry, man, I’m sorry,” Jack says, doing his best to keep his attention at the hole in his side. “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts. You’re fine though, you hear me? I know it hurts. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

The more Blevins squirms on the floor, the harder it is for Jack to find the damned bullet, but eventually he’s finally able to grasp it. Like a sick version of the Claw game that he used to watch Riley play, Jack carefully takes it out of the wound, before carelessly tossing it to the side. “Mac, gauze back on!” When the younger man doesn’t move, Jack turns, panic increasing even further. “Mac!”

He isn’t quite sure what spurred Mac into action, but Jack’s grateful for it nonetheless. He isn’t as grateful as Blevins lets out a harsh scream as Mac puts pressure on his side. “‘M sorry,” Mac says, and Jack knows that it’s too soft for Blevins to hear.

“Alright, last step, buddy,” Jack calls out, both to Mac and Blevins, before pulling out the QuikClot dressing that he always hopes he never has to use. “Lift up your hands when I say so, ‘kay, Mac?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. One, two, three.”

Jack feels just as guilty as he did before as he nearly packs in the gauze, knowing that there’s no other option for a bleed as severe as the one Blevins is sporting. The man kicks and cries out, and there’s nothing Jack can do to ease his pain.

By the time Jack’s done taping the dressings on, Blevins is unconscious again.

Out of all of his time in the military, Jack never gets used to the horrifying silence after a scream. He doesn’t think he ever will, either.

Pulling himself together, Jack turns to his tech. “How’re you feelin’, kid? Mac?”

“Yeah?”

“How are you feelin’?”

“Did, um, did you get the bleeding to stop?”

Nodding, Jack does his best to soothe, “Blevins is gonna be fine. Now I’m a little worried about your noggin, though.”

Scrunching his eyes, Mac points out, “You’re still bleeding. Your arm. It’s, uh, it’s bleeding, Jack.”

Holding out his left arm to get a better look at his shoulder, Jack confirms, “Well shit, it still is. It’ll be fine though. This ain’t even blood donation levels yet.”

Mac seems to accept that as an answer. “Okay.”

“We need to get upstairs,” Jack says, knowing that the safety won’t make much of a difference if the hostiles get close enough to breach, but it’s better than nothing. “I’m gonna carry Blevins, but I gotta know that you can make it up those stairs. Can you walk?”

“I can walk.”

“Prove it. I’ll be right behind you. Go up there,” Jack points with his chin. “Michell’s up there with his nest. You sure you can handle the stairs?”

Pulling himself up with the help of the wall, Mac distractedly quips, “‘M not old yet. I should, uh, I should be asking  _ you  _ that.” Even though he’s turned three shades paler, which shouldn’t even be possible with Mac’s already fair skin, he still grins. 

After watching him make it up three steps, Jack figures that he’ll be fine for the rest of them, and turns his attention to the bigger problem. Despite the fact that he’s unconscious, Blevins’ brow is still scrunched in pain. Naively, Jack hopes that he won’t be able to feel this. 

Carefully making his way up the stairs with Blevins in his arms, Jack gently deposits him next to Mac, who’s already sunk back down to his butt. He’s also winded, which is a little more than concerning given that Mac made it through basic, but now can barely walk up half a flight of stairs. 

“How’re we doin’, Michell?”

Still keeping an eye in the scope, he replies, “They got too much cover, man. I can tag ‘em when they poke out, but it don’t happen often enough.”

“And ammo?”

“Baker’s dozen.” When Jack curses, Michell sighs back. “My thoughts exactly.”

Pulling his own rifle from his strap, Jack announces, “Alright, trade off.”

“You know I’m good for the next ten hours, man.”

“‘Course I know. Still don’t mean you have to. Plus I figured you wanna check on your tech,” Jack adds with a grimace.

After a second of deliberation, Mitchell nods. “Yeah, alright. You just say the word when.”

*

Mac has had a concussion before. It wasn’t from anything cool either.

Archimedes had just escaped, for the fifteenth time that week, and Mac was running around the neighborhood with a leash, trying to catch him. He didn’t even see the curb, and fell straight down, without any time for his hands to catch him.

It hurt.

He still doesn’t remember much about it.

Or maybe he does.

Mac’s actually not sure anymore.

The point is, it’s not his first concussion. He knows what Jack would say. ‘Not my first rodeo.’

Frankly, it doesn’t even make sense. Mac’s never been to the rodeo. It’s not exactly a small town Californian activity.

That’s another thing that Mac doesn’t understand. Mission City. City.

Cities have a population of at least 50,000 people, greater than at least 1,500 citizens per squared kilometer.

Mission City doesn’t fit that. It’s a town. Mission Town.

Different countries categorize towns as different things.

He knows how it’s classified in the US, but not in Afghanistan. Which is unfortunate, because that’s where he is right now. Afghanistan.

Mac’s head hurts.

Actually, no it doesn’t.

It’s just a bunch of nerves relaying signals to the brain. Pain doesn’t even make sense. Plus his head doesn’t really hurt.

It’s just… pulsing.

It’s off putting. Mac doesn’t like it. 

Fuck, he lied, his head really hurts.

Like, a lot. It  _ hurt  _ hurts.

Doing his best to distract himself from the pain, Mac looks around the room. It’s upstairs, he remembers that. Walking up the stairs was not fun. He definitely doesn’t want to do that again.

It reminded him of the stairs to the hallway with all the math classrooms from Mission City Highschool.

There’s that name again. Mission ‘City’. It shouldn’t be that.

The stairs at the school were really tall. They weren’t a standard height because they were built ages ago. A long time. A really, really long time.

They were also made of concrete, which isn’t conductive and can’t catch on fire, which Mac often took advantage of. 

Concrete stairs.

One time he stubbed his toe on them.

He was supposed to be looking around the room.

Michell is in front of Blevins, checking his bullet wound.

Ow.

Mac figures that a bullet wound would probably hurt more than his head.

He’s never gotten shot before.

He’s gotten a concussion before. It was when he was chasing Archimedes around the neighborhood.

But he’s never gotten shot.

Jack got shot too. He saw the blood on his arm.

Mac didn’t get shot. Which is good. He doesn’t want to get shot. It sounds like something that would hurt.

Like his head.

His head hurts.

But if he got shot in the head it wouldn’t hurt anymore. 

Because he’d be dead.

Mac’s head hurts.

“Hey.”

Frowning, Mac watches as Mitchell scoots over next to him. Looking around, Mac can see Jack at the window. The nest. That’s what snipers call it.

Like a bird. A bird’s nest. Made out of sticks, but because of the growing problem of trash, bird nests now have plastic and fabric in them.

“Hi.”

“Can I check your head?”

Mac thinks about it for a moment, before realizing that there’s nothing to think about. Plus thinking makes his head hurt. “Yeah.”

With a smile pulled tight, Mitchell tries, “Does it hurt on any particular side?”

Yes. All of it. Wait, no, that’s not right. The side. “The side.”

“Which side?”

Fuck, Mac didn’t think that far ahead. The pain is pulsing. It feels all localized. That doesn’t make sense. It’s an oxymoron in his brain. Moronic.

Ironic.

Irony.

Where was he going with this? “The left. No. Back. Back left,” Mac eventually settles on, rather proud of himself for his deductive reasoning. 

“Alright. We can work with that. I’m gonna pull off your helmet, got it?”

Frowning, Mac points out, “Jack is hurt.”

“Where’s Dalton hurt?”

Nodding, Mac replies, “His arm. He said it was less than donating blood.”

“God fucking dammit,” Mitchell mutters, but Mac’s pretty sure that it’s not directed at him.

At least he really doesn’t think so. Mitchell looked off to the side, so that. That makes sense.

He thinks.

Mac isn’t actually sure what’s making sense. Or why Mitchell left.

Mac also looks to the side but he doesn’t see anything there. There’s a spot at the wall.

Leaning up against the wall, Jack holds a piece of gauze against his arm. That’s good. Jack’s bleeding. “Snitched on me, huh kid?”

“Snitches get stitches,” Mac seriously replies.

Much to his surprise, Jack barks out a laugh. “Out of all the things that coulda’ come outta your mouth, I certainly was not expecting that.”

“‘S what Donnie said.”

“Who the hell’s Donnie?”

With a clumsy smile, Mac replies, “The one I snitched on.”

“Yeah, well, you might actually have to get stitches this time. Lemme see that head of yours,” Jack requests.

Mac frowns in response. “You said to keep the helmet on. The nylon wasn’t worth it.”

“Damn kid, you’re really out of it, huh? And I changed my mind. I’m takin’ off your helmet. You ready?”

Before Mac can formulate his reply, he hisses as the back of his helmet seems to scrape against his head. It feels like the back of his helmet turned into little metal grooves.

His head feels better when the helmet finally gets off.

“Tell me if I’m hurtin’ ya, ‘kay?” 

Mac then feels a hand card through his hair. It feels nice.

He doesn’t remember a feeling like this.

But it feels nice.

Until it reaches the back of his head. Then it doesn’t feel nice anymore.

Instinctively, Mac shies away from the pain, batting a hand out to Jack’s arm.

“Sorry Mac,” Jack replies, pulling his hand away. “You gotta pretty good sized goose egg back there. It ain’t bleedin’ though. That’s why you keep your helmet on.”

Frowning, Mac points out, “But I just took it off.”

“Man, I think this is the only time where I’m the one with more IQ points in a conversation between us. I feel like I should probably celebrate.”

IQ is stupid.

Mac knows that for a fact. “Hate IQ.”

“What’re you on about?”

“It’s dumb. Dad was always ob-obsess…” Frowning, Mac tries to get his lips to form the right word. Actually, not just his lips.

The tongue is an important part of speech, as are the teeth. Really, the entire mouth is. It’s why old people can’t enunciate when they don’t have their dentures in.

Luckily,  _ he  _ still has his teeth. “Obsessed.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve never really understood the point of IQ tests either.”

“Yeah,” Mac empathetically nods. “They’re dumb.”

After a second, or maybe it’s a minute, Mac can’t really tell, Jack asks, “Are your ribs still hurtin’ ya?”

“How’d you know my ribs were hurting me?”

“Well, for one, you just admitted it.”

Goddamn. Jack would be a great lawyer. Mac did mock trials one year in high school.

He was a freshman.

He didn’t like it.

Everyone was really uptight and stuck up, which was weird, because they were all teenagers pretending to be lawyers.

He’s definitely not going to be a lawyer.

Why did he even do mock trials?

Oh right. Boze asked him to.

But Boze didn’t want to be a lawyer either, so why did he?

The crush. Of course, the crush! Her name was Anya. Anya was in mock trials, and Boze had a crush on her, so he wanted to be in mock trials, but then he didn’t want to be alone so he roped Mac into doing mock trials, and  _ that  _ is why Mac was in mock trials.

Is it possible to be winded from just thinking?

His head really hurts.

“You never answered me, kid.”

“Huh?”

“Are your ribs still hurting?”

Oh right. The reason why Jack was going to be a lawyer. “I think so.”

He thinks it might’ve been the wrong answer, because Jack frowns a second later. “Untuck your shirt. Lemme see.”

Mac obliges, not seeing any reason not to.

With a sympathetic hiss, Jack mutters, “Yeah, those are definitely gonna bruise. Gonna be a nice colorful pallet for a while.”

“‘M not a painter,” Mac murmurs back. Although paints are a quintessential material for Mac and Boze.

Boze uses them to decorate his sets and change the color of props. Mac uses paints to blow things up.

Paint is a pretty great accelerant.

...He got in trouble for that one.

It’s also the reason why Mission City doesn’t sell spray paint to minors. In the majority of places in the US, it’s because of vandalism.

In Mission City it’s because of Mac.

Mission Town.

The name is still bothering him more than he thinks it ought to.

Mac looks between Mitchell and Jack, electrical impulses in his brain firing faster than they ever have before. Also slower than they ever have been. Huh.

“Weren’t you gonna take, uh, take over the- the nest?”

“Yeah, I was supposed to, before you snitched on me and my arm.”

Mac makes a noise of confirmation, before staring down at Jack’s left shoulder. “‘S still bleeding?”

“Barely.”

“That means yes.”

“Yeah, well, I’m no worse for wear compared to you two.”

Who two? Wait, that’s not right.  _ Which two. _ There.

Mac and someone else. Mac and Blevins.

Blevins with a gunshot wound who only woke up to be in pain. 

They need to get out of here. “We need to get out of here. Jack.”

“Yeah, we do,” He sighs, letting a fraction of worry escape onto his face.

“No, Jack. I need, I need something. Radio.”

“Mitchell and I still got a couple o’ brain cells left, kid. We already tried the radio. It ain’t workin’. But I called it in earlier. Before the explosion.”

Sitting up straighter, Mac points out, “I can fix it. Fix it with, um, wait, no. I need to know  _ how  _ it’s broken before I fix it.”

Unclipping the radio from his vest, Jack hands it over. “Happy Birthday, kid.”

“‘S not my birthday. Yet.”

“Wait, is it comin’ up?”

Yes it is. The anniversary of his dad leaving. Like every year, it seems to surprise him when it arrives. Somehow the 365 days seem to zoom by.

But not right now.

It’s going slow right now.

Real slow.

“I need my knife,” Mac murmurs to no one in particular, patting the sides of his ACUs until he feels the familiar shape through a pocket. “Ah-hah!”

Mac really likes his knife. He likes the color too.

Even though red is the color of Blevins bleeding, and bright red is the color of arterial blood, Mac likes it. When he was little it was his favorite color.

It still might be his favorite color.

“You feelin’ okay, kid?”

Letting his hand drop with the knife still in it, Mac looks over and nods. “Why?”

“You’ve been staring at the knife of yours for a while.”

Oh. “How long?”

Jack’s quiet for a few moments, before putting on a nice face. Mac thinks it’s fake. “Can I see your flashlight? The real skinny one.”

Mac pats down his pockets once again, before handing it over with clumsy fingers. It nearly slips out of his hands.

After testing the LEDs on his palm, Jack looks back up. “Open your eyes for me? Real wide.”

Mac complies, but regrets it when light assaults his eyes a second later. With a wince, Mac closes his eyes and cringes away.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jack replies, sounding surprisingly genuine even though he’s the one that’s holding the light. The flashlight.

Batteries and LEDs. Simple electrical circuits.

Mac’s built his own flashlight many times. It’s one of the most simple engineering problems. Actually, it’s not even difficult enough to be considered a problem. 

Child’s play in engineering.

That’s what his dad always said, anyway.

“Open your eyes one more time for me?”

Suspicious, Mac questions, “So you can shine that, that um, that flashlight in them again?”

“Just tryna see how bad it is, Mac. I know it ain’t fun.”

Although he complies, it’s not without a sigh. “‘S hurts.”

“Yeah, I know, I’m sorry. I’ll be fast.”

And Jack stays true to his word, quickly flashing the light over his eyes. It hurts, but at this point it’s more uncomfortable than anything.

“Radio, now?”

Holding it out, Jack shrugs, “Yeah, take it. Can’t make it much worse than it already is.”

Frankly, his dad would disagree, but Mac doesn’t say anything about that.

With practiced ease, Mac pries open the plastic casing, letting all of the insides of the radio fall out. They make a nice twinkling noise when they clatter to the floor.

Mac thinks long and hard, before turning back to his overwatch. “Do you, uh, um…” Trailing off, Mac squints at the floor. “Flashlight? Can I ‘ave it?”

“Uh, sure? Why?”

Already snatching it from his hands, Mac answers, “Batteries.”

Right after he closes his mouth, Blevins’ opens, and with it a pained groan.

“You good here, Hoss? Not gonna fall over?”

“‘M good.”

“Alright,” Jack replies, before moving over to crouch next to Blevins. Mac can see that he’s saying something, but Mac doesn’t have nearly enough brain power to figure out what that something is. Besides, it’s not for his ears.

Stripping wires is something that Mac’s all too familiar with, and it seems like no matter where he is, the activity always calms him. So what if he stripped off a few more centimeters than strictly needed? It worked.

And then he loops and loops and loops and loops them around the batter, probably more times than he needed to but that’s okay. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

The Bozer’s said that.

Ouch.

Fiddling with frequencies, Mac holds the radio out when it cackles to life.

Almost instantly, Jack snatches it from his hands, voice already changing to fit the situation. That’s something Mac’s noticed.

Jack has a ‘Jack’ voice, but he also has a ‘Sergeant’ voice. It can change so fast that Mac doesn’t even realize it.

With the radio’s problems now out of his hands, literally and metaphorically, Mac turns all of his attention to his knife. He really likes the color of it.

He also just likes it.

Harry gave it to him.

Fuck, he misses Harry. It’s only been a few years, but he misses him so badly.

“Ow.”

“You good, Mac?”

Taking a second to register the words, and also for the pain to compute in his mind, Mac holds out a thumb, a red bead of blood welling out of it. 

Wincing, Jack mutters, “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t be fiddling with that knife while you’re concussed.”

“No,” Mac counters, holding it close to his chest. “‘M okay. How's, uh, how’s Blevins?”

“Gonna make it,” Jack confidently answers. “Called the boys for reinforcements, and we got a bird on the way. They’ll lift the two of you out.”

Humming, Mac confirms, “That’s good.”

“Yeah, it is. You’ll finally get that noggin of yours checked out.”

Mac flips open his blade again, the larger of the two, and Jack moves back closer to him.

“Okay, maybe don’t play with the blade while you’re concussed, ‘kay?”

“Mm,” Mac replies, before realizing what Jack said. “Wait, no. ‘M good.”

“No offense, kid, but that’s not gonna be the case for a long while. If you wanna keep your fingers moving, just take these. Gonna take real skill to cut yourself with ‘em.”

Looking over to the outstretched hand, Mac grabs all of the paper clips from Jack’s palm, discarding his knife on the floor. Oh hey, he probably shouldn’t do that.

That knife means a lot to him.

He can bend the paper clips into knives though.

Not working ones. But just ones that look like knives. Mini knives.

He’s good with knives. Not for fighting. But for everything else.

So is Bozer. Also not for fighting.

Bozer is good with knives for cooking.

That’s weird. Mac’s never thought about it this way. Neither Mac nor Bozer use their knives for fighting. Not what most people would expect.

He bets that Jack uses knives for fighting.

Mr. CIA and Delta Man has definitely fought with knives before.

Definitely.

Mac twists the paper clips, but he has no idea what they’re going to turn into. Although that itself isn’t quite an anomaly, Mac’s pretty sure that even his subconscious doesn’t know.

Subconscious.

He’s not a fan.

Neither that nor unconscious. Falling into unconsciousness.

Mac’s done that for Bozer’s movies. Acting, of course. Not that Mac’s a brilliant actor, but as teenagers, he was the best Boze could get.

Mac’s head really hurts.

And it gets worse with the noise.

“There’s your ride, kid.”

Looking up, Mac frowns at the ceiling, knowing that if it wasn’t there, he’d be able to see the helicopter. He can certainly hear it.

Thwup thwup thwup thwup.

Mac’s head hurts.

Worse than when he was chasing Archimedes, which is the first time he got a concussion.

It hurts way more than that.

There’s gunfire, loud pops of rounds echoing around him, and Mac cringes from the sound. There isn’t much he can do about it though, so he just endures it all.

He’s good at that.

Enduring.

When he looks up, Michell and Jack both have relieved smiles on their faces, and Mac can tell that there’s still adrenaline pumping through their veins. The adrenaline crash is going to hit them soon.

Mac’s experienced that.

It isn’t fun.

“Why is it, Dalton, that whenever I see you, it’s always because you’re a damsel in distress?”

Looking up, Mac sees a woman dressed in gear similar to Jack’s, but she doesn’t look like overwatch. She’s also sending a look to Jack, and Mac can’t tell if it’s teasing or serious.

“C’mon, if anyone’s a damsel it’s the kid here.”

Frowning, Mac replies, “‘M not a damsel.”

“That’s debatable, Mac.”

As a few other people begin to crowd around the room, mostly towards Blevins, the woman moves closer to Mac. “Hey there, MacGyver. I’m Sandy Lou. Heard you got hit in the head. How’re you feeling?”

Mac looks between Jack and the woman, before slowly answering, “Fine?”

“Nausea? Any fuzzy vision? Double vision? Confusion?”

“Confusion is an understatement,” Jack mutters from his side, and wow, wait, when did Jack even get there? “Still fixed up the damned radio though. Dunno how you managed that, kid.”

“‘S Blevins okay?”

“Yeah, he’s gonna be just fine,” Lou answers without missing a beat. “Can you walk, MacGyver?”

“Yes.”

“No,” Jack counters.

Snorting, she replies, “As much as I hate to admit it, I think I’m more inclined to agree with Dalton on this one.”

“Hell yeah! Another score for Jack!” He grins, holding out a fist to bump with Lou.

Frowning, Mac points out, “Thought we weren’t gonna refer to ourselves in the, uh, in the, the third person. Point of view.”

“Jeez, MacGyver, you really don’t sound too good,” Lou murmurs, before looking at Jack’s fist. However, that’s not what catches her eye. “Dammit, Dalton, you didn’t say that you were fucking hit.”

Glaring at his shoulder, Jack questions, “What, this? I’ve gotten worse playing skee ball.”

“When, um, when you have played… skee ball?”

Completely ignoring Mac, Jack turns to Lou again. “Also check his ribs. He’s been winded as hell since the bombs went off.”

“Yeah, I hear it. You ready to go, specialist?”

With a question that Mac finally feels confident answering, he nods. “Yes.”

*

“You actually with me, this time?”

Groaning, Mac turns toward the voice of his overwatch, doing his best to ignore his pounding head. “Hm?”

“Alright, I’m gonna take that as a ‘no.’”

That’s not right. “No.”

“You wanna prove it to me?”

The second Mac opens his eyes, he clenches them shut. It’s way too bright. Whoever invented this brightness must’ve had it out for Mac. “Ow.”

“Well, you’re certainly more eloquent than the last couple of times you woke up.”

More eloquent than ‘no’ and ‘ow’? Mac must’ve been out of it more than he thought. “Jack?”

“In the flesh.”

Finally finding the motivation to keep his eyes open, they fall on his overwatch, who’s currently hunched over in a chair next to his bed.

Actually, it’s not his bed.

It’s a bed. “‘M I in the infirmary?”

“Ding, ding, ding. Tell ‘em what he wins!” Mac just groans as a response. “How’re you feelin’, kid?”

Brining a clumsy hand up to his eyes, Mac asks, “How long was I out?”

“From when Lou found us? About a day.”

“A day?”

“Yep,” Jack answers, popping the end of the word. 

“Are you okay? Your arm?”

This time, Jack looks at him like he’s just asked the stupidest question in the world. “This is barely a scratch. Barely needed stitches.”

“Mm. And Blevins?”

“Gettin’ shipped home as soon as his body lets him.”

Letting out a breath that he didn’t know he was holding, Mac sinks into the scratchy pillow a little bit more. “He’s okay?”

With a smile, Jack confirms, “He’s gonna be fine. One hell of a PT regime, but he’ll be doin’ that back home. And in case you ever felt like wondering about yourself, you’re also gonna be fine. Light duty for a couple of months, but that’ll go by faster than ever.”

Groaning, Mac mutters, “The headache that never ends.”

“Yeah well, that and your ribs.”

“What’s wrong with my ribs?”

“Bruised up. Docs think that it was how you landed after the explosion.”

“Oh, right.”

Frowning, Jack questions, “You do remember that, right?”

“‘S all kinda fuzzy,” Mac admits. “I remember my head hurt, and Blevins was hurt. And then’ uh, I remembered thinking of how cities are categorized? And my dog.”

Jack shakes his head, “Hold on, you have a dog?”

“Had,” Mac corrects. “When I was younger. My grandfather let me keep him. He was a stray.”

“Of course he was,” Jack grins.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothin’.”

“Hm.”

“Nothin’, I swear!”

Letting his eyes close, Mac groans, “If my head wasn’t full of, full of… bongo drums, I’d be questioning you.”

“Bongo drums?”

“Shhh. ‘S loud.”

He can hear Jack inhale. “Right. Get some rest, Mac. And when you can stay awake for longer than five minutes, you can read this.”

Hearing the familiar noise of rustling paper, Mac cracks open an eye. “‘S that?”

“Letter from good ‘ol Bulldozer.”

“Please stop calling him that.”

“Nah,” Jack grins as Mac’s eyes close once again. “Too much fun.”

If Mac could, he’d roll his eyes. “‘M going to bed.”

“Yeah, you do that.”

With no energy to make snarky comments, Mac falls asleep within seconds, concussion riddled brain giving him dreams made of kaleidoscopes. 

Standing up to stretch his legs, Jack flags down the next doctor that stops by. “‘Scuse me,”

“Everything okay?”

Nodding, Jack confirms, “Yeah, man. I was just wondering, who writes the medical reports ‘round here?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hehe whump :)
> 
> As I mentioned earlier, it's kinda difficult to put in good whump, because if it's bad enough, it'll give Mac an honorable discharge, which I don't want. ...yet...
> 
> That being said, concussions never get old, and I absolutely love writing concussions, so I hope that you all enjoyed this as much as I did!
> 
> I'd love to meet more of you guys, so come talk with me on [tumblr](https://appalachianapologies.tumblr.com/) (AppalachianApologies) if you'd like! I'm always so down to meet new people :D
> 
> I love you all very much, and I hope you all are doing okay. If you find yourself in a bad or scary situation, here are some hotlines (Please keep in mind that the written out numbers are US hotlines)
> 
> National Suicide Hotline: 1-800-273-8255  
> National Sexual Assault Hotline: 1-800-656-4673  
> National Domestic Violence Hotline: 1-800-799-7233
> 
> If you don't live in America and need someone to talk to, here's a list of [international hotlines.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines)  
> You are not alone, and I love you all <3


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